


Seasonal

by phoenixjean



Series: sweet distant things [4]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, and basically just wish fulfillment, literally this is like toothache inducingly sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixjean/pseuds/phoenixjean
Summary: a year feels like a long time to be in love with your best friend





	

_Autumn_

You’re lying with your head at the foot of your bed, staring peaceably up at the glow in the dark stars you put on your ceiling when you were younger. The sound of rustling fabric comes from your phone, indicating Peter’s return on the other end of the line.

“So what’s the verdict? Is the old takeout in the back of the fridge actually _too_ old?” You ask, lips tugging upwards into an amused smile, even though your best friend isn’t actually there to see it.

“Ugh,” Peter’s laugh comes through the speakerphone as a burst of static “Yeah definitely. I threw that shit out. I was worried it’d grow legs if I didn’t put it out of its misery”

“Wise decision, buddy. I’m pretty sure that Chow Mein was there like, a month ago, or something.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re right. Don’t know what I’m gonna do for dinner though,” he remarks, sighing. There’s a momentary lull in the conversation, but the silence is an easy one.

“You could come over and eat the old takeout from my fridge. Or even new takeout. Mum and Dad left money for dinner before they headed upstate for the weekend, so I’m feeling pizza,” you suggest idly.

“Have I ever told you you’re the best?” Peter asks gratefully, and you snicker.

“Not often enough. If I put a Dominos order in now, it should get here not long after you do. I assume you’re cool with my usual?”

“For sure. I mean, I’d probably eat anything, as long as I didn’t have to cook it myself.” He sounds sheepish and you supress a laugh, remembering a few of the highly memorable times Peter tried to cook.

“Yeah, you not cooking is probably best for like, the world at large, not to mention the sake of your kitchen and your own health," you agree, reaching blindly over the end of your bed to pull out your laptop. “I’ll order drinks with the pizza and put on the Lord of the Rings.”

“You’re the best. I’ll see you soon”

You smile up at your ceiling, pulling your laptop up and setting it on the bed beside you. “I’ll see you soon, Peter.”

* * *

_Winter_

You scrub a hand across your face before tapping your finger over a few lines of the passage in front of you.

“No, no, no _listen_. A lot of Shakespeare is just dick jokes the teachers don’t talk about when they teach it, but just as often,” you tap the page again, for additional emphasis, “he gives us gems like this one, and the teachers don’t teach it so that people appreciate it, which is a damn shame. I mean, the _‘Is this a dagger’_ speech is famous but it’s famous for good reason. See _‘It is the bloody business that informs thus to mine eyes’_ Macbeth isn’t literally saying ‘oh, I’m about to be violent that’s why I see this bloody dagger’-well, I mean, he is-but like, it’s actually talking about how being in this specific moment before murdering Duncan is uncovering the struggle between his ambition and his conscience. His political ambition has become this deadly, violent thing and he’s –You’re not listening, are you.” You stop, looking expectantly at him, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he offers you a shit eating grin “It’s cute when you start nerding out over Shakespeare.” You roll your eyes and half-heartedly push his face away.

“I won’t deny that I’m a Shakespeare nerd, but don’t be flippant, Parker. I’m trying to help you out here,” you protest, though your chuckle belies the complaint. “I read Macbeth of my own accord two years ago, I’m not doing this-” you gesture at the books in front of you “-for fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he quips, bumping you with his shoulder. “C’mon I was sort of paying attention and you _are_ helping me out, but I also did you a major solid before the organic chem test a while back, so if you could maybe, go over it again please?” He smiles winningly at you, and the combination of his close proximity at the small library desk and his teasing grin makes something in your chest inexplicably tighten.

“Okay, fine. Because you asked so nicely.” You turn back to the open book, a small smile on your own face and you try to ignore the way warmth radiates through your body where his arm bumps against yours.

* * *

_Spring_

The rain is utterly torrential. You make a mad dash from the subway stop to the doorway to Peter’s building, and you’re exposed for a total of, at most, maybe a minute, but by the time you reach the shelter of the stoop, you’re drenched. You lean against the entrance, pushing your wet hair off of your face as Peter, who is somehow even more drenched than you are, sprints wildly for the meagre shelter, and he almost bowls you over as he rushes to get out of the rain. You shove him off, laughing at his poor coordination and he leans back against the other side of the doorway, grinning.

“You’re soaked," he remarks, and something in his tone makes you pause; makes you look up. He’s still smiling, and he opens his mouth, as if to say something when a car splashes noisily through a puddle and the tension evaporates.

“So I am. Very astute, Parker,” you quip, extending your arms as if presenting your wet clothing as evidence. He rolls his eyes at you as he pushes the door open and you head to his apartment, neither of you mentioning the brief silence in your conversation.

When you get up to his apartment, you move through to the main area, while he stands just inside the door, trying to figure out how best to approach the issue of his soaked clothing. You grab him a dry shirt from a pile of laundry on the edge of the sofa and throw it at him, laughing as he brushes the water out of his eyes.

“Here, put that on. You’re dripping on the carpet.” So he dutifully peels off the drenched shirt and as you’re turning around, he’s about to put on the dry one, and he’s shirtless and you can feel yourself blushing because, you know you’re a little in love with him but that doesn’t mean you really want to think about it. You’re looking away when the mottled bruises up his ribcage catch your eye and your jaw drops. “Peter what the fuck. Did I somehow miss you getting hit by a bus?” You stare at him, shocked, and he freezes.

“I-I uh, fell off a chair changing a light bulb a few days ago. It looks way worse than it is though, so don’t worry about it,” he replies, quickly, his voice tense, and you scoff.

“Don’t worry about it? Jesus, Peter I’m not an idiot, that isn’t what happens when you fall off a chair. What actually happened? Did you get in a fight or something?”

“Sort of. It’s-” he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck and sighs “It’s kind of complicated, but I promise it isn’t serious.” You raise your eyebrows skeptically.

“If it isn’t serious then why can’t you tell me about it? You’ve been so weird lately. What’s going on with you?” Peter avoids your gaze, staring resolutely at the floor.

“I’m just-things are-” he stops and tries again. “I’m crazy busy, what with the internship with Mr Stark and so on, and I’ve just had a lot on my plate. Things are just kind of insane at the moment.”

“‘A lot on your plate?’” You repeat, mockingly. “Christ, Peter, you don’t tell me about anything you’re doing, you don’t pick up the phone half the time, you bail on plans, and a few weeks ago you disappeared for three fucking days and I find out from Aunt May that you were in Germany for whatever reason. Fucking Germany, I mean, _God_ Peter,” you laugh, but there’s no humour in the sound. “It’s in an entirely different _continent_. And then suddenly you’re interning with Tony Stark and the first time I even hear about this internship is _after_ you get back from fucking Germany.”

“It’s-My internship with Mr Stark has made things crazy. I’ve been so busy, and I’m sorry I don’t talk to you and I’m sorry you’re upset, but I’m- I mean- everything is kind of-”

“Crazy,” you cut him off, your voice flat. “Yeah, I got it the first time.” You turn away, heading towards Peter’s room. “I’m gonna grab my stuff, then I think I’ll go.” If you had looked over your shoulder, you would have seen Peter staring after you, visibly upset with the turn the afternoon had taken. But you don’t. You’re too busy ignoring the pricking sensation at the back of your eyes, because you’ve always told each other everything and you didn’t know when that had stopped.

You push open the door to his room, swiping angrily at your eyes to try and ward off the tears you can feel building there. Sighing, you grab at the strap on your bag, but as you make to sling it over your shoulder, a couple papers fall out, one of them sliding just under the bed. Swearing softly, you set your bag back on the floor and crouch down to gather up the papers. You’re just kneeling to grab the one under his bed when your hand brushes against some fabric. You lean down further to actually look under the bed, and you reach over to pull out what you assume is an abandoned shirt, but when the piece of material is in your hand, it isn’t a shirt. It’s a mask.

Your hands are trembling as you walk silently back to where Peter is sitting, slumped at the kitchen table, his back to you. You set the mask down on the table in front of him and you can actually see him tense up. “Please tell me what the hell this is,” you say, your voice soft and low and shaking. He shrugs weakly, trying to gather his thoughts.

“I-It’s the mask that goes with my suit for-it’s, uh well, I-I’m Spider-Man,” he trails off uncomfortable and his shoulders move in that same helpless shrug. “(Y/N), I’m sorry. I wanted-but I couldn’t- I just wanted to protect you.”

“How the fuck would not telling me be _protecting_ me?” Your voice is ice cold and Peter physically flinches.

“There are a lot of _bad_ guys in the city and if anyone- If any of them found out who I was, and tried to get to me through you-I just-I’m sorry, (Y/N),” His voice wavers as he says your name, and he’s staring at you beseechingly, desperately hoping you’ll understand, and now it’s your turn to deliberately avoid his gaze. “I thought I was doing the right thing.” You don’t say anything. The silence in the kitchen seems to stretch on for years and the air is so rife with tension you could practically see it. “Please say you understand,” he begs. “Say-God, say anything, really. Please say something (Y/N).”

You finally look at him, and he looks so forlorn-so desperate and you want to tell him you understand, you _do_ , but you _can’t_. You can’t make the pieces line up right and you’re pretty sure your brain isn’t working properly-or at all, even- and you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes, so-

“I need to think about this.”

And you turn and walk away from your best friend before he can see you cry.

* * *

It’s been three days since you walked out on Peter, and you aren’t angry at him. Not anymore. Your initial rage has burned down to confusion and hurt. He had started trying to talk to you the day after you had fought, once it became clear that you were ignoring him.

 **Peter:** Please let me explain

 **Peter:** Y/N I’m so sorry

 **Peter:** Pick up the phone. Please talk to me.

Your phone was full of missed calls, unopened voice messages and texts, but you hadn’t replied to any of them till today.

 **Y/N:** Okay. I’ll come over this afternoon

Your hands are shaking as you send the text, and as soon as it sends you regret it, but you know that you can’t go on like you have been, so you drag yourself out of bed and towards the bathroom to shower and regain your composure.

When you arrive at his building, you actually pass Aunt May on your way in, entering just as she’s leaving. You smile weakly at her and she returns it with a painfully sympathetic one of her own.

“Hi.”

“Oh honey.” She steps over and hugs you. “I don’t know what you and Peter were fighting about, but you look almost as bad as he does. Talk it out. It’ll be okay," she says, and she sounds so kind, so understanding that you almost start crying again.

“Thanks.” Your voice is small. Aunt May gives you one last sympathetic look before exiting the building, leaving you to face your best friend.

Your hands are trembling as you reach up to knock on the door, but before your knuckles can make contact, it opens. Peter is on the other side. He looks exhausted and nervous, as he steps aside to let you into the apartment, not saying anything. You sit down, leaning back into the sofa and curling your legs underneath you. He still hasn’t said anything, so you swallow uncomfortably and start.

“Look, I-I’m sorry that I just walked out and then ignored you for like, three days. That was really a dick move. I shouldn’t have done that. But it was just- I mean-” you gesture helplessly at him. “It was a lot. I did need to think about it.” You take a shaky breath. “I think I understand it now-how you were just trying to protect me, _I think_. Just-just help me understand the rest of it. Please. I just want my best friend back.” You’re trembling, and if you weren’t on the verge of tears before, you definitely are now, because this is so much harder than you though it would be. You want to look away from him but you can’t do anything but watch him carefully as he sinks down into an armchair near you and rubs a hand tiredly over his face.

“It’s-It’s kind of weird. I don’t totally get it, yet. I mean, not all of it.” He pauses and takes a deep, calming breath, as if trying to steady himself. “I got bitten by this-this spider, and then suddenly I could just kind of sense things that I shouldn’t be able to- it’s like all my senses have been multiplied. It’s pretty overwhelming, actually. And I can climb buildings, which is insane.” You let out a small, watery chuckle, and the flicker hope in his eyes as he looks over at you is almost painful. “I sort of had all these crazy abilities, so I tried to do something with them, because Uncle Ben-” His voice falters, and your stomach tightens in sympathy, because you know that wound is still raw, and probably always will be.

“I just wanted to do something good for the city, and then Tony Stark contacted me, and I went to Germany and I fought Captain America and everything is totally surreal.” His gaze drops from yours, heavy with guilt, and your stomach clenches. “I wanted to tell you. More than anything. But there are so many bad people in the city, and most of them hate me and I couldn’t risk anything happening to you because of what I do. I haven’t told Aunt May, either. I just-I think it’s probably better this way. For now.” He trails off, and he’s avoiding your gaze. You reach over and rest your hand on his forearm, and he tenses, looking up at you cautiously.

“It’s okay, Peter. I mean, I don’t know if I really understand all of it-you were right. It is complicated. But I get it. You just wanted to protect me.” You sit back, regretfully withdrawing your hand from his arm. “I’m not mad. Just please don’t lie to me anymore. Even if you think you’re trying to protect me. Promise?” His face breaks into a smile full of such gratitude that your heart skips a beat.

“Promise."

* * *

_Summer_

The August air is oppressively hot, but as Peter grabs your hand and tugs you through the crowds at the museum and towards the exit, you can’t really bring yourself to care. The two of you manage to clear the swarms of people and make for the park, and as you swing your clasped hands between you, you can’t stop a contented smile working its way across your cheeks. You’re watching Peter as he rambles eagerly about the exhibit, not really listening, just enjoying his sheer enthusiasm for the show you had just watched in the planetarium.

“(Y/N),” you hear him say, and you’re abruptly yanked out of your reverie.

“Hmm?”

“You weren’t listening to a thing I was saying, were you?” He chuckles, and you flush lightly.

“Sort of. It’s cute when you start nerding out over space,” you reply, throwing his words from months ago back in his face, and this time he laughs in earnest, a wide grin tugging at his lips, and something about his infectious happiness and the way he still hasn’t let go of your hand tugs at your heart. You know you’re in love with him, and you’ve made your peace with just being his best friend, but moments like this one make you think that maybe, _maybe_ he might love you too.

You’re just about to cross the street, when he freezes, pulling you to an abrupt stop. His brow is furrowed slightly, and he looks as if he’s listening to something from a long way away. You squeeze his hand slightly, trying to get his attention. He blinks and his gaze refocuses on you.

“What’s up?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head absentmindedly.

“No it’s-don’t worry about it,” he deflects, and you sigh in exasperation.

“What is it, Peter?”

“Well, it’s-there’s a-I’m not sure if I-” he seems intensely undecided, but you’re pretty sure you’ve figured out what happened.

“Go ahead, boy wonder. I can tell your weird justice sensors are going off. I’ll be fine,” you say, rolling your eyes and pushing him gently. He grimaces apologetically at you, then drops a kiss on your temple before jogging off down a side street. Your hand involuntarily flies to the side of your face in surprise as you watch him go.

“Be safe, asshole,” you shout after him, and he’s almost out of earshot, but as he waves back at you, grinning, your chest tightens and you wonder, not for the first time, when you managed to fall so head over goddamn heels for him.

* * *

_Autumn_

The weak early autumn sun filters through the clouds as you walk through the empty park. You spot a row of logs set up as boundaries along the edge of the path, so you nimbly hop up onto the first one. You sway a little, almost losing your balance and Peter laughs at you. You stick your tongue out at him, also giggling, before looking back down at your feet, arms deliberately extended to help steady yourself. You get about three logs down before you slip again, and you would have fallen, but Peter grabs your hand, stopping you from sliding off the narrow divider.

“Sometimes I forget how clumsy you are,” he teases, laughing. You let out an incredulous laugh.

“Coming from you”

“You know very well that I have fantastic reflexes and am incredibly graceful,” he replies mildly, still suppressing a chuckle.

“Well I’ll have you know that I also am incredibly graceful, spider-boy,” you retort in mock offense, kicking half-heartedly at his leg.

“It’s Spider- _ma_ _n_ ”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure it is, spider-boy.”

“So if you’re super graceful, what happens if I do _this_?” And he pulls down hard on your hand before letting go. You yelp in surprise, wobbling unsteadily from side to side, trying to keep your footing.

“Peter Parker, You’re the worst!” You slip, falling to the side, and would definitely have landed on your ass had he not caught you, preventing you from hitting the ground. You’re both laughing, and you’re no longer in any immediate danger of falling over, but his arms are still around your waist. You look up at him, and suddenly you’re conscious of just how close his face is to yours. Your gaze unconsciously darts down to his lips then back up to his eyes, and your throat is inexplicably tight.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is soft and he sounds uncertain, treading carefully into new territory but you don’t think about any of that; you don’t think at all.

“Please.” The word slips out almost unprompted, cutting through months of agonizing tension but you don’t get a chance to think about that either because almost before you can finish the word, one of his hands slides up from your waist to tangle in your hair and he’s kissing you and the rest of the world falls away. Your hands fist in the material of his shirt and your knees are weak but you can’t think about anything other than how perfect his lips feel against yours, and you kiss him back like this is your only chance. His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you closer to him and your arms wind around his neck and it’s just the two of you, frozen in this moment.

When you pull back, his breathing seems a little unsteady, and yours definitely is, and you think your heart is so full it’s going to burst.

“Wow,” he breathes. “That was-”

“A long time coming?” You suggest, and he ducks his head to kiss you again, smiling softly.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

 


End file.
